Murder at Marble House(91)
“No, none of those makes sense,” I agreed without asking him to repeat whatever I had missed. “Consuelo certainly wouldn’t know any immigrants—”
The word stopped me; I went silent, thinking.
“Emma, are you there?”
Rather stupidly, I nodded, and Derrick spoke my name again, more insistently this time.
“Yes,” I said absently, and then with more force, “Derrick, what are the names of those immigrants?”
“Hold on.” There came a muffled clunk as Derrick must have set down the ear trumpet, followed by the rustle of paper. “Some are owners, others are leasing the properties.” I heard more rustling. “Here we are . . . Medeira, Quinn, Souza, Dwyer, Dietzman, Delgado—”
One name stood out in that hodgepodge of Portuguese, Irish, and German names. “Delgado!”
“Ouch. You needn’t shout in my ear, Emma. How is Delgado significant?”
“Is the first name Eduardo?”
“It is. Do you know him?”
“Derrick, Eduardo Delgado is the head gardener at Marble House. My goodness . . . I need to think about this. . . .” The hand holding the ear trumpet drifted downward. My body thrummed with nervous excitement, but with bafflement, too. Everything I knew about Mr. Delgado contrasted sharply with the notion of his holding Consuelo against her will. Or, for that matter, hiding her from her mother.
Could Consuelo have sought his help and persuaded him to help her “disappear,” at least until she came to terms with her future? When I considered it that way, it didn’t seem impossible that the kindly man might help her—yet it would be at the risk of losing his job. There was no doubt he’d be sacked the moment Aunt Alva learned of a connection between him and Consuelo’s disappearance.
“Emma? Emma! Are you still there?”
His query drifted up from my hand and quickly I raised the ear trumpet and leaned closer to the transmitter. “Oh, Derrick, I was so wrong about everything. I went off on wild goose chases because I let my imagination run away with me.”
“What do you mean?”
I shook my head sadly, another gesture he couldn’t see. “I convinced myself of a connection between the murder and Consuelo’s disappearance. But there couldn’t be. Mr. Delgado couldn’t possibly have—”
“How can you be sure he didn’t kill Madame Devereaux?”
“I know him. He’s a decent man. So kind and—”
“Murderers don’t go around snarling and openly threatening people, not as a matter of course.”
“Yes, I know that.” His condescension tempted me to knock the ear trumpet against the wall in lieu of swatting his arm, but I knew I’d likely end up breaking it. I paused to think back on the day of Madame Devereaux’s murder and all the evidence I’d heard during the police questioning. “If I remember correctly, Mr. Delgado said he was conferring with Grafton, Aunt Alva’s butler, about redoing a portion of the tea garden for the Duke of Marlborough’s welcoming party. So he has an alibi.”
“Would your cousin have confided in a servant? Especially an outdoor workman? An upstairs maid is one thing, but a gardener. . .”
“I have no way of knowing,” I said truthfully, for I’d learned the hard way that I knew my cousin far less than I’d thought I did. “Except, of course, to go to his house and find Consuelo. Then we’ll have our answers. Tell me the address.”
“Oh, no, Emma. I’m not telling you anything. I’ll go. Or better yet, Jesse Whyte and I will go together.”
“You can’t.” I gripped the edge of the call box as if gripping Derrick himself. “If you go knocking on Mr. Delgado’s front door, Consuelo will go running out the back door.”
“Then we’ll each cover a door,” came his infuriatingly calm response.
“No, Derrick. It has to be me. She won’t trust anyone else. I won’t have my cousin traumatized.”
But even as I spoke the words, I heard the lie in them. What reason did Consuelo have to trust me after our last talk? I had let her down and cruelly proved she had no one to turn to. No one but a soft-spoken servant who was too generous to turn his back on her.
Here was my chance to make amends. Whatever the future brought, surely I could make Consuelo see that she couldn’t hide out in Mr. Delgado’s cottage indefinitely. In that way perhaps I could help them both, for I didn’t wish to see Mr. Delgado sacked. As for Consuelo, whatever she wanted, I would do my best to make happen. I would take her side no matter the consequences.
“Derrick, it has to be me and no one else. At least, no one else in sight. The Duke of Marlborough may already be on his way to Newport and could arrive any day. Consuelo has a right to know this before she makes any decisions, and I owe it to her to explain matters calmly, without any pressure or interruptions. I have a plan. A compromise.”